tip those rusty old hydrangeas out of the pot
before I choke of their meal smell
nothing makes me so awake
as hearing nuns say during lectures 'thus and so'
and then my writing 'thus and so'
into the mottled composition book by mead
for no reason except I love my pen
this may be psychological have I told you lately
how I premise most of my constricture
on your divinations and your whims
your restful chaste blue eyes
you prayerful vintage laywoman lookalike
sputtering what you've been taught
not to divulge
sheila e. murphy
